Anything about Anything
by themostrandomfandom
Summary: "Brittany doesn't even have anything special she wants to do tonight, other than just being with Santana." Santana sleeps over at Brittany's house on a school night. Mouseverse.
1. Chapter 1

Brittany knows it's a silly reason to cry, which is why she wants to stay quiet about it. She shuts her door and turns off her lights, then crawls into bed, pressing her face into her powder blue pillowcase, hoping to muffle the sound of her sobs, but even though she takes every precaution, fifteen minutes later, somehow her mom just knows.

(Brittany swears her mom must have supersonic hearing or something.)

"Honey?" Brittany's mom says, opening the door; Brittany sees light seep into her dark room from the hallway. Brittany can imagine her mom, one hand on the door handle, standing crooked in the doorframe, but she can't see her—just hear her voice, gentle and hesitant, like she's not sure quite what she's seeing. "Are you okay? It's seven o'clock. Why are your lights off, sweetie?"

Brittany doesn't say anything; she holds her breath. Maybe if she stays quiet, her mom will think she's asleep and won't realize that she's crying for such a weird reason.

"Britt, are you sick? Do you have a headache? Why are you in bed?"

Brittany tries to swallow the soft, wet gasps trembling low in her throat, but she can't quite do it; she's crying too hard. She keeps her mouth open, her breath humid between the pillow and her lips. She feels her shoulders rattle as she tries to suppress a full sob.

"Britt, are you crying, honey?"

She hears the soft shush of socks on carpet as her mom pads across the room from the door and then feels a hand on her shoulder, turning her over. Her mattress sags as her mom sits on the edge of the bed beside her. Brittany hurriedly tries to wipe her face, but it's no use; her mom sees her tears. Without meaning to do it, Brittany whimpers; she knows she sounds super sad. Her mom's eyebrows scrunch together.

"Brittany, honey, what's the matter?"

Brittany doesn't answer; she doesn't want to say. She knows it's a weird reason to cry—or at least that it isn't as serious as cancer or breaking up or not being able to have kids when you want to do that. She's not a baby and it shouldn't be this hard to stop crying over something so irrational.

(It doesn't feel irrational, though.)

Maybe if she just stays quiet for a few minutes, she'll be able to stop sobbing. Brittany bites her lip; her whole face feels like it might crumble.

"Brittany," her mom says slowly, "did something happen at school? Did someone say something mean to you?"

Brittany shakes her head no, because it isn't that. People have actually been pretty nice to her lately, ever since she became class president.

Her mom pauses, drawing a shaky breath. Brittany can see the edges of her face illuminated in the pale, browned light peeking in from the hallway, but her eyes and mouth look dark and deep. She rubs at Brittany's shoulder, sitting next to Brittany's head, half on Brittany's pillow and half on the mattress.

"Is it Santana?" she says hesitantly.

For a second, Brittany wonders how she should respond. In the end, she decides to tell the truth; she shakes her head yes, because, yeah, it is Santana.

Her mom looks relieved to have found a right answer, but nervous about her next question.

"Are you two fighting?" she says, raising her eyebrows up high. Her question ends on an upswing, like she really isn't sure if she asked the right thing—like she can't imagine them fighting over anything.

It's probably good that Brittany's mom can't imagine that, because she's right; Brittany shakes her head no super fast because she and Santana aren't fighting. They haven't fought since last year. They get along so, so well now, and it's not like they agree about everything in the world, but they agree about important things, and they talk about everything, and Santana just understands Brittany even when Brittany can't say exactly what she means, because Santana is just perfect—

Brittany's mom just says "Honey?" and Brittany knows she should probably explain, otherwise her mom will feel worried for no reason.

But.

"You'll laugh at me," Brittany moans, turning her head to press her face into her pillow again. Her voice sounds fat from crying and her words muddle as she kisses into fabric. Her face feels tight in some places and stretched out of shape in others. She sobs again, and, god, it's all just weird, okay? Her cheeks are so hot. She doesn't want to say why she's crying because she knows her mom won't take her seriously if she does.

"I promise not to laugh, sweetie," Brittany's mom says solemnly, running her nails in little circles over Brittany's shoulder, soothing her. "Just tell me what's the matter. What's the deal with you and Santana?"

She sounds so sincere that Brittany can't help it; she looks up from the pillow to find her mom staring down at her, her expression soft and caring. She pouts her lips a little at Brittany, like she's already ready to feel sorry for her, and that's probably what makes Brittany talk, in the end.

"It's not fair!" Brittany says, a fresh sob breaking her throat.

Her mom looks worried to see Brittany cry so heavily. "What's not fair, honey?" she asks.

"It's not fair," Brittany cries, "that we can't just be together all the time because we love each other so much. I mean, I know some people who love each other can't be together because of like wars or family feuds or oceans or business trips or alien abductions and stuff, but there's no good reason with us. When she's not here, I miss her and it hurts a lot, even though I know I'll see her tomorrow. And I just don't understand why two people who love each other should have to be apart just because they're kids or something, because we're not even really kids; we're eighteen. And the kid thing shouldn't matter anyway, because we love each other more than anything."

She says all her words really fast and really close together and then sobs again. Her nose runs; she knows it isn't cute.

The corners of Brittany's mom's mouth twitch, but she doesn't laugh, because she promised she wouldn't. Instead, she puts on a bigger pout, just to show Brittany that she cares. "Oh, honey," she coos. "Even adults who love each other can't be together all the time. Dad goes to work every day and I go to work and sometimes we just have to be apart."

"But you get to spend your nights together. You don't have to be lonely when you sleep. Like, if Dad has a nightmare, you're there and you can hug him better. And you don't have to wake up not seeing him," Brittany says, because it's true. The heartbrokenness of her own voice surprises her; it sounds like a tragedy.

Brittany misses Santana on the nights when they can't sleep together—the shape and the soft and the quiet breathing of her. When Brittany has to go to sleep alone, it feels like someone stole something out of Brittany's chest. Not having Santana there makes it so hard to sleep and even harder to have good dreams. Her body knows that Santana is missing and curls into itself so that Brittany spends the night in a tight ball.

As stupid as it is to cry over something like this, it's even stupider that Santana and Brittany can't just be together at night. It's not like they always even do stuff, anyway; Brittany just misses dreaming with Santana whenever Santana is away.

"Oh, Britt," Brittany's mom says. "Baby," she pauses. It seems like she wants to say one thing, but then switches halfway to say something else. When she speaks again, she uses her this-means-business voice. "Here's the deal: You can have Santana sleep over tonight _if_ her parents say that it's okay, but you had better go straight to sleep and remember that this is a one time thing. I don't want you to get used to having sleepovers on school nights. You can make it a few more months, sweetie. Once you graduate…," her sentence trails away and now she's the one who sounds sort of sad.

It's the first time Brittany's mom has talked about what will happen between Brittany and Santana after graduation with Brittany, really. The fact that she knows that Brittany wants to move in with Santana after graduation—like it's not even a question of if, just when—makes Brittany feel respected, somehow. Brittany wishes Santana could have heard her mom say that.

Wait.

What Brittany's mom just said dawns on Brittany. She shoots up, sitting beside her mom, and starts wiping the tears from her face. Instantly, the waterworks in her eyes shut down. She feels so, so happy, like a blooming flower.

"I can call her?" she asks, just to make sure.

Her mom nods, seeming a little surprised with herself. "I'll tell your dad she's coming over." She laughs at something, but Brittany isn't quite sure what, and leans over to kiss Brittany's hair. She wipes a tear from under Brittany's eye and gives Brittany one last back scratch before standing up off the bed. "Remember: one time thing," she warns, emphasizing each word as she says it, but Brittany doesn't care. It feels like Brittany just won a giant prize, like the Ohio State Powerball or something. Brittany's mom disappears into the hallway; she leaves the door open so that Brittany has light.

Brittany reaches over and snatches her phone up off her nightstand. She only has to wait one ring before Santana picks up.

Santana has this new thing where whenever she answers the phone when Brittany calls, she rattles off a bunch of really quick compliments to Brittany in Spanish. Usually Brittany only catches a few of them because Santana talks so fast that all her words jam together, like sprinters coming down a racetrack in a pack, but the fact that Santana does it still makes Brittany smile, even though she doesn't understand everything Santana says.

"¡Hola, mi chica brilliante! Tú eres el sol en mi cielo y la luz de mi mundo! Te amo tanto que no puedo soportarlo a veces. ¡Te amo cantidades estúpides! ¿Qué pasa, chula? ¿Cómo está mi chica bonita, maravillosa, la genia?"

Brittany laughs. "¡Hola, my Spanish-speaking auctioneer!" she says back. Suddenly, it's like she wasn't even crying before; now everything feels light and perfect.

Santana snickers into the phone. "Okay, that is so not as romantic as what I said," she teases. "What's up, babe?"

Brittany can hear Santana chewing something, so she imagines Santana in the kitchen, trying to scrape the last peanut butter out of the jar with a long knife; Brittany knows that's probably not what Santana is doing, but she likes thinking of Santana with the phone pressed up to her ear, leaning gracefully back against her counter.

"You should come over," Brittany says breathlessly.

"Okay," Santana replies automatically. Then, "Should I bring my calc stuff? It's not due until Friday."

"No," says Brittany. "No math; just you. My mom said that you could sleep over, if you wanted."

"Seriously?" Now there's a smile in Santana's voice. "No way! It's a school night." She isn't chewing anything anymore. Brittany imagines Santana holding still, hovering next to the sink, about to wash off the knife.

Brittany shrugs, even though Santana can't see her. "I may have talked her into it," she says, using her sneaky voice. She isn't exactly lying, but she isn't going to mention the silly crying part, either. It's not like Brittany thought that crying would get her anything anyway. She just felt sad and started randomly crying about it; she can't help it if her mom overheard her or if her mom is just super nice and really gets things sometimes.

(Brittany guesses that her mom told her she could have Santana come over because her mom loves her dad so much that she knows how bad it sucks to have to be away from the person you love.)

"Really?" Now Santana sounds like she won the Powerball, too. "Um, okay. Let me ask my mom. Oh god, what if she says yes?" says Santana, giddy. Brittany feels a little bit giddy, too. A lot giddy, actually.

For a second, Santana goes quiet and all Brittany can hear on the line is her breathing, quick and nervous, but excited. She hears some percussion and imagines Santana running up the stairs. More breathing, then a rapping sound.

"Mom?" Santana says, far away from the phone. "Can I sleep over at Brittany's house tonight? Her mom says it's okay."

Brittany hears Santana's mom say something, but Brittany can't understand it. Maybe she says it in Spanish or maybe she's just too far away from the phone for Brittany to catch what she says. Brittany holds her breath. Oh please, oh please, oh please. Santana's mom talks for a long time, then Santana starts talking, too, sort of over the top of her.

"Yes," Santana says. "Yes. Promise. I won't. Yeah."

Her mom says something else.

"Yes!" Santana cheers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The phone rattles and suddenly Santana seems closer than she did before. "I'll be right over, BrittBritt."

Her voice sounds like a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

When Brittany hears the doorbell, she practically flies down the stairs, jumping down the last five all the way to the landing. She makes a lot of noise, clattering against the walls and stomping as she runs. She feels her heart high in her chest and can't stop smiling; it's like Santana is Christmas and Brittany's birthday and winning Nationals all at once and Brittany just can't wait to see her. She skitters across the wood floor in her socks.

The ruckus must scare Charity, because as soon as Charity sees Brittany throw open the door, she darts away down the stairs to the basement, the fur on her back raised in a ruff. Brittany flicks on the porch light, illuminating Santana standing in the doorway.

"Hey, BrittBritt," says Santana, smiling Brittany's favorite smile in the entire world. She has on what Brittany can tell is a new coat of lipstick, a berry-dark shade that makes her look older than she is. Her hair shines under the light.

(Brittany guesses Santana must have just touched it up in the car.)

(It gives Brittany about a million butterflies to realize that, even though they've basically been in love for forever and dating since the summer, Santana still tries to impress her, even now, just for a tiny sleepover like this.)

"You look beautiful," Brittany blurts, grabbing Santana by the wrist and pulling her into the house. Brittany feels her ears pink and her whole face goes hot; her heart beats like a hip hop rhythm in her chest. She leans forward and kisses Santana quickly on the lips, a little harder than she means to. Everything feels bright and close up and important.

Santana smiles. "Hey, hyper," she says, rolling her eyes, but she's blushing, too. She kicks off her shoes and arranges them on the mat next to the door. Happiness buzzes between them like a current. Brittany shuts the door behind Santana because she can see Lord Tubbington creeping around the corner from the dining room, looking to make his escape to the outdoors. Santana carries her Cheerios bag over her shoulder. She checks around conspiratorially, and, seeing that they're alone, whispers, "This is the best—thing—ever!"

Brittany nods about a million times; she doesn't even have anything special she wants to do tonight, other than just being with Santana.

"Totally. Come on, come on, come on, come on," says Brittany, dragging Santana up the stairs behind her, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Santana just laughs and allows Brittany to lead her. It feels like they have a big, giddy secret.

As they start up the stairs, Santana whispers, "We already broke a rule."

"What?"

"My mom made me promise when she let me come over here that we wouldn't just make out all night."

Brittany smirks and looks at Santana just as they reach the top step. "One, that wasn't making out, that was just a peck. Two, it hasn't been all night yet," she says. "We still have, like, four whole hours before we need to go to bed."

"How about let's make that three whole hours?" says Brittany's dad, crossing paths with them in the hall as he shuffles Brittany's little sister into the bathroom for her bath. "Mom said you weren't allowed to stay up late. You have school tomorrow." He stops in the doorway of the bathroom and smiles back at them. "Hi, Santana-banana."

"Hey, Mr. Pierce," says Santana, her fingers sliding down to grip Brittany's. She looks at her feet, embarrassed.

Brittany's sister pokes her head out of the bathroom and scowls. "How come Brittany gets to have a sleepover?" she whines, punching at their dad's leg, then gripping onto his jeans. "If I cry like a baby, can I have a sleepover, too?"

"Hey!" says Brittany, kicking out at her sister, missing when her sister ducks behind their dad's legs for protection. "You brat!"

Brittany didn't want Santana to know she was crying.

(She didn't want her sister to know that she was crying earlier, either, but her sister sort of found out when Brittany went to go wash the mascara off her face in their bathroom and ran into her in the hall.)

(Santana looks confused about the crying part, but doesn't ask about it, probably because she can tell that Brittany doesn't want to ruin how happy they feel right this moment by talking about something weird and sad that doesn't even matter now anyway.)

"Brittany Sue!" her dad warns. He turns to Brittany's sister, hustling her towards the bathtub. "When you're Brittany's age, we can talk about sleepovers on school nights, okay? For now, bath. Then bed."

"Sleepovers with the person I'm dating? What if it's a boy?"

"First bath, then bed."

Brittany and Santana scurry away down the hall. They look at each other, funny smiles on their faces, because they feel like the exceptions to some unspoken rule. They duck into Brittany's bedroom and Brittany closes the door softly behind them. Santana sets her bag on the floor next to the wall.

"It's weird to think about her dating someday," Santana says. "I swear to god, she will always be like three years old to me."

"She's almost nine, Santana."

"Really?"

Santana crinkles up her brow and starts counting under her breath, like she's trying to figure out how long she's known Brittany's sister exactly. Of all the cute people in the entire world, Brittany is sure that Santana is the absolute cutest, basically like all the time. Brittany feels a flood of warmth and happiness spread out from her heart. Sometimes she loves Santana so much she doesn't know what to do about it.

"So I'm probably gonna break your mom's rule now," Brittany informs her.

A dopey smile.

"Okay."

Brittany takes a step closer to Santana and sets her hands on Santana's shoulders. Santana stands up on tiptoe, leaning forward into Brittany, linking her hands at the back of Brittany's neck. Santana's eyes catch the light. Brittany remembers that she once read something about brown dwarf stars and she thinks about Santana's eyes, bright and brown and stellar like that.

Brittany feels so, so loved already and their lips haven't even touched yet. Santana tilts her head and sinks into Brittany. They kiss the breath out of each other in little sighs. Brittany feels a shock go over her whole body. They kiss and kiss and kiss, sloppy-happy and so, so deep.

A knock.

"Girls?" says Brittany's dad's voice through the door. They spring away from each other. "Girls? Can I come in?"

"Yeah, Dad!" Brittany calls, breathless. She doesn't know where to put her hands, so she clasps them behind her back. Her mouth feels all wet, but she doesn't have time to wipe it. She glances at Santana, who jams her hands in her pockets. Santana looks at Brittany, the darkest part of her eyes bigger and rounder than usual.

"Hey, girls," says Brittany's dad, stepping into the room. "Mom wants you in bed by eleven o'clock. And she wants you to remember that you still have laundry in the dryer, Britt. Take it out of there tonight, so you don't forget it in the morning. She's gotta wash your sister's basketball jersey before her game tomorrow."

"Right, Dad. I'll move it," Brittany promises.

"Good stuff," Brittany's dad says, smiling. "Okay. I'm gonna pick up a new light bulb for the garage from Circle K. You two need anything while I'm out?"

"Nope."

"Okay, then. See you later," he says. He turns to go, then stops. For a second, he just looks between the two of them, like he wants to say something, but isn't sure if he should say it. In the end, he goes for it: "Oh and Britt?" he says. "You've got some lipstick on your face."

He grins, cheeky, and winks at Santana, then closes the door fully behind him.

"Oh my god!"

Brittany doesn't think that either of them will ever stop blushing.


	3. Chapter 3

After her bath, Brittany's sister knocks on Brittany's door and asks if she can come in. When Brittany says yeah, she peeks her head into the room and Brittany sees that her hair is still wet, in long, spaghetti strings of soaked blonde. She holds a plastic, purple comb in her hands and wears her little fuzzy bathrobe with penguins on it. Brittany's sister glances over Brittany and Santana sitting on the bed, Brittany's laptop open beside them. She seems nervous.

"Can you help me do my hair?" she asks, voice a little shaky. She walks towards them.

"Sure," says Brittany.

Brittany's sister shakes her head. "Not you—_Santana_," she clarifies, offering the comb to Santana. She produces a clear plastic box full of tiny, neon plastic hair bands out from the front pocket of her robe to show that she's prepared.

Santana laughs and takes the comb, setting it on the mattress. "Okay, munchkin," she says, patting the bed where she wants the little girl to sit. Brittany scoots over to make room for her sister, setting her computer on her nightstand. Brittany's sister shuffles over to the bed and hops up onto it, crawling to the center like a cat. She settles, cross-legged, in front of Santana.

"Can you put it in all those little braids so that it's curly tomorrow?" she asks.

Santana rolls her eyes but Brittany's little sister doesn't see her do it because Santana is sitting behind her. "That takes a long time, kiddo," she says.

Brittany's sister shrugs. "Yeah, well, you have a long time. You're sleeping over, remember?"

Santana laughs. "How could I forget?"

When she doesn't say anything else and doesn't pick up the comb, Brittany's sister squirms a little. She looks between Brittany and Santana, like she knows she interrupted something. "You can just pretend I'm not here," she suggests. "Like, just braid my hair and talk mean about all the people you hate and make love-eyes at each other."

"Is that really all you think we do?" Santana says incredulously. "Talk mean about people we hate and make love-eyes at each other? Jesus."

"I don't know, San," Brittany jokes, lying back on the bed and stretching her legs out. "I think she has us pegged."

"You could kiss and stuff, too," Brittany's sister says helpfully. "I'll just close my eyes."

"Oh my god!"


	4. Chapter 4

They do kiss while Santana does Brittany's sister's hair—but only once, and it's Brittany who starts it.

Santana has such clever, careful hands; she's always been good at weaving braids and rolling sleeping bags tight after slumber parties and picking playing cards up off tabletops during rounds of Go Fish. She even makes it look graceful when she plucks wrong notes on the piano.

(Brittany took piano lessons in second, third, and fourth grade; Santana never took at all.)

(The only three songs Brittany can remember how to play now are "Chopsticks," a song from the primer book called "Funky Munky," and a super simple version of the Beatles' "Eight Days a Week.")

(Santana likes that last one best.)

Brittany could watch Santana do just about anything and think it was the most interesting thing in the world, but she especially loves watching Santana make braids and seeing the way Santana's fingers glide in rhythmic threes, one over another, in little trills, Brittany's sister's slick hair slipping easily between her hands.

Brittany guesses that she must go into kind of a trance as she watches Santana, because when something makes a sudden breaking noise, Brittany jumps, her heart thudding like crazy. She feels like someone just jolted her out of a deep-sleep dream. It takes her a second to register that one of the little elastic bands snapped when Santana tried to fit it around the end of a braid.

"Oh sh-oot!" says Santana and it's the cutest thing ever because usually Santana would just swear, but this time she catches herself, stopping her hand before she accidentally pulls Brittany's sister's hair, stopping her mouth before she says something PG-13 in front of a nine year-old.

Brittany's sister startles and Santana draws her other hand—the right one—up to the side of the little girl's head against her jaw, stilling her so she doesn't yank against the hair Santana still has splayed between her thumb and three fingers.

"You okay, sweetie?" Santana asks, bending down close to her ear so she can see Brittany's sister's face. Brittany's sister nods just the littlest bit, careful not to tug her hair, and Santana smiles at her, warm.

(One of the things that Brittany loves most about Santana is how Santana takes care of people—how she's so gentle and treats special things like they're special just because she understands how easily precious things can break.)

(Brittany also loves how Santana is good at little things, things most people wouldn't even think to practice, because she notices details that not everyone else sees.)

Brittany's heart feels big in her chest and she can't help it: she ducks across the mattress and kisses Santana's cheek just as Santana sits up to get back to her braiding.

"What was that for?" Santana asks, somewhere between dopey and embarrassed.

Brittany shrugs. "You said 'shoot,'" she explains, because that's about as close as she can get to really saying what she means.

They stare at each other, Brittany leaned back against the pillows on the bed, Santana sitting up straight, cross-legged on the mattress, Brittany's little sister right in front of her. Santana gasps and holds her breath, a slack smile hanging on her face, just from Brittany's look. Their eyes meet and it's like they just can't do anything else but kiss, so they kiss.

They've kissed once in front of Brittany's little sister before, during the summer, which is why she told them that they could kiss now, too, if they wanted, because she knows they do that sometimes, but this still feels brand new somehow—kissing in front of someone else.

It's not a long kiss, but it is sort of open-mouthed because they both smile into it. Santana turns where she sits to reach Brittany, but keeps hold of Brittany's sister's hair.

"Mhm," Santana says and Brittany laughs as they pull apart.

"Hey!" says Brittany's sister. "Are you gonna finish my hair or not?" She rolls her eyes like they're wasting her time and she has a ton of important stuff to do.

"Excuse me, squirt?" says Santana, using her sassy voice. "This is not the _Salon de Santana_! I'll finish your hair whenever I da-ng well please."

Brittany's sister shuts up.

After that, Brittany and Santana go back to talking. Brittany gets her laptop off the nightstand and opens up Facebook while Santana braids. Lately, they've started this thing where they inappropriately "like" other people's statuses, just to be bitchy and keep everyone on their toes.

They like the status of a girl on the Cheerios who just broke up with her boyfriend of three months over IM.

(During the summer at cheer camp, she talked down to Brittany like Brittany was slow.)

They like Rachel Berry's status: _"Mediocrity will never understand true greatness."_

("God, I wish we could like that one twice!")

("Like it from my account, too—use my phone, babe.")

They read Quinn's status and Brittany hovers the mouse over the button: _1 yr 7 mths 12 days._

Sometimes Quinn thinks she's really mysterious, but she's not. If you care even a little bit, you can crack her code, easy.

("Not that one.")

("No. Ugh. That's so sad.")

("Go back to last week and like that one she had about Judy being a bitch. Do it from my phone—that way she won't feel like we're going easy on her.")

("You said a bad word.")

("Cool it, squirt.")

("We should take her shopping with us this weekend.")

("If she wants to.")

("Yeah. Totally.")

It's almost nine-thirty when Santana finishes the last braid, winding an elastic band around the bottom to tie it off. Brittany's sister sits up high on her knees, like a meerkat popping up out of its hole, to look across the room into Brittany's mirror from the mattress. Each braid is the exact same thickness and perfectly tight; if Brittany didn't know better, she would think a machine made the braids instead of Santana. Brittany's little sister pokes at the braids with her tiny fingers, checking to make sure they won't come undone.

"Don't mess 'em up," Brittany teases, because there's no way she could actually mess them up just by touching.

"Where's my tip?" demands Santana, holding out her hand to Brittany's sister like she expects money. She smacks her gum really loud and Brittany's little sister looks confused for a second before her brow hardens.

"Santana!" she groans, like Santana is such a pain. She rolls her eyes.

Brittany thinks that Santana is probably the funniest person in the entire world and just laughs and laughs, because Santana is perfect; Santana looks pleased with herself when Brittany's sister takes a swipe at her.

The door to the room opens. "There you are!" says Brittany's mom, catching sight of Brittany's little sister. "The big girls kidnapped you, huh? Come on, honey. It's past your bedtime."

Brittany's sister whines and tries to dive between Brittany and Santana to hide, but Brittany catches her around the middle and holds her tight, tickling her until their mom can walk over and pull her up from the bed. "Britty!" Brittany's sister shrieks through her laughter. As Brittany's mom grabs Brittany's sister under the arm to help her stand, Santana leans over and starts tickling the undersides of the little girl's feet, setting her into an even deeper fit of giggles.

"Come on," says Brittany's mom, dragging Brittany's sister off the bed.

"You still owe me a tip!" Santana calls as Brittany's mom and sister leave the room.


	5. Chapter 5

After Brittany's mom and sister leave, Brittany and Santana change into pajamas because Santana says she is so over wearing a bra for the day and Brittany completely agrees. They decide to fill their Cheerios bottles with water from the filter and put them in the fridge to chill overnight.

As they walk down the hallway to the stairs, they can't stop touching each other; their hands and wrists brush and their shoulders nudge together, as if attracted by magnets. Santana holds onto Brittany by the elbow and Brittany feels a current run between them, like someone tuned their bodies to each other on a high note.

"Stop it," says Santana, smiling, when Brittany grabs onto the hem of her shirt and tugs it.

"Stop what?" says Brittany, smiling, smiling, smiling.

Things start to get noisy upstairs just as they put their water bottles in the fridge; it sounds like someone bowling a strike, but really it's just Brittany's sister putting up a fight about going to bed. They hear heavy, adult footfalls and a whiny little girl voice coming through the ceiling.

Usually, Brittany's sister doesn't fuss about her bedtime, so Brittany guesses that what makes tonight different is that her sister probably wants to follow Santana around instead of going to sleep because she basically thinks that Santana is the awesomest person in the world and that it would suck to miss a chance to hang out with her; Brittany doesn't blame her sister for thinking that way—because she's right and it would—but at the same time she feels glad that their parents are going to make her sister sleep anyway.

Brittany and Santana scamper towards the stairs, twirling across the wood floor in their socks. Brittany performs a running jeté and Santana watches her, entranced; even though Brittany finishes the move sloppily and Santana has seen her execute it better a thousand times before at dance recitals, Santana still acts awestruck, like Brittany just did something great. When Brittany smiles at Santana, embarrassed, Santana grins back.

"Bravo!" she says, golf clapping.

Right then, Brittany decides she doesn't want to go back upstairs yet. She grabs Santana by the wrist and pulls her into the dark living room. They see Charity's metallic, yellow eyes reflecting through the blackness beside the end table, but, aside from the cat, they're alone. Brittany tugs Santana over to the couch and they stand in front of it.

"What are you doing, goofball?" whispers Santana. They can't see each other anymore; everything is just movement, heat, and voice.

"Kissing you," says Brittany, reaching out until she finds Santana's jaw in the darkness. She stills Santana's head and tilts it up. Slowly, Brittany leans forward, ducking down, until her lips find Santana's skin—first her nose and then, after a dip, her lips. She kisses Santana's Cupid's bow and then kisses her full on the mouth. Santana reaches out and sets her hands on Brittany's hips to steady herself.

"I like this," Santana says, kissing Brittany back.

"Let's stay down here for a while," says Brittany. "Maybe they'll forget about the bedtime thing?"

Santana laughs in the dark. "When you were a little kid, did you ever, like, hide from your mom when she would come to get you from play dates and stuff?" she asks, and, even though she can't see Brittany nod, she continues after a second. "Like, would you hide with your friend until she got really pissed and started screaming at you that you had to leave, so then you'd, like, come out from your hiding place and pretend you hadn't heard her until then?"

Brittany laughs because she does remember doing stuff like that—she remembers the anxious, ringing feeling in the pit of her stomach while she cowered behind couches and under stairwells, her mom's voice getting louder and louder.

"Nope," Brittany says smugly. "You're the only weirdo who ever did that."

Santana pinches at Brittany's hipbones. "You brat!" she says, and Brittany grabs at her forearms. Santana screams a little bit as Brittany pulls them onto the couch. They both land on their sides with an _oof_. Brittany clambers to even them out, half settling over Santana. She kisses Santana's silhouette—her ear, her jaw, her chin, and again and again her mouth. Santana rolls their hips together.

"Let's hide down here," Brittany whispers.

"Okay," Santana says, breathless.

They paint each other's mouths with kisses.

(Neither one of them remembers Santana's mother's rule.)


	6. Chapter 6

By the time they hear the footsteps, it's too late to move. The light flicks on, momentarily blinding them, and then they see Rory standing at the edge of the room wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a soccer t-shirt, looking squinty and surprised.

His eyes fall on them: Brittany sits cross-legged on the couch, Santana cradled in her lap, Santana's knees curled to her chest and her head pressed against Brittany's shoulder, one arm curved around Brittany's back, one hand clutching Brittany's arm. They aren't kissing anymore, but they might as well be by the way Rory's eyes go wide.

"Brittany!" he splutters. "Santana!"

Never did Brittany imagine that she would be in the same room as Rory and Santana while all three of them were wearing pajamas; just thinking about the how funny they all must look together almost makes Brittany laugh.

Over the past few months, Rory has gotten sort of used to the fact that Santana spends so much time at the Pierce house, but Brittany guesses that probably nothing could have prepared him for a moment as weird as this one. He acts like somebody smacked him on the face or told him that the moon would turn purple next Tuesday.

Since he wasn't upstairs to hear it when Brittany's mom said Santana could come over, he probably thinks that Santana snuck in through the window for smooches or something.

For a second, everyone stays quiet, then Santana puts on her meanest voice: "Got a staring problem?" she snaps.

The funny thing is that even though Santana sounds fierce, she looks like just about the most adorable little thing on the planet, snuggled up in Brittany's lap, all cuddly and soft.

Rory opens and closes his mouth a few times, like a hooked fish.

"Spit it out, Creepy O'Leery!"

Rory jars. "Have you seen my phone charger, Brittany?" he blurts. His eyes dart over to the coffee table, but it isn't there.

"Lord Tubbington probably pawned it on the black market for 'nip money," Brittany shrugs, because she doesn't know. Rory stares at her like she's crazy.

(She hopes Rory takes the hint.)

"Have you checked your room?" Santana snips.

"I… uh…," Rory stammers. He probably has checked his room, but he pauses and swallows. After a second, he shakes he head no, a nervous expression on his face, then takes one last look at Brittany and Santana on the couch before darting away towards the stairs, running like he's scared that Santana will chase him. He leaves the lights on when he goes.

Once they hear him clatter down the last step to the basement, Santana shifts against Brittany's body. "BrittBritt?" she says, in her sweetest little mouse voice.

"Yeah, San?"

"Do you think he noticed that neither of us are wearing bras?"


	7. Chapter 7

They decide to go upstairs again after that, probably because hiding out is never as much fun after somebody finds you.

After collecting Santana's toothbrush from her Cheerios duffle, they head into the bathroom and brush their teeth side by side, holding hands between them. Brittany bumps her hip against Santana's hip and then Santana bumps back. They smile at each other, their mouths all full of foam, and Santana has a hard time keeping all her toothpaste in her mouth. Brittany counts it as a personal victory when Santana has to break their handhold so that she can cover her mouth to keep the foam from dribbling all down her chin.

Santana bends and spits into the sink. "Dork," she says, her words still thick from the leftover toothpaste. She grins at Brittany, first in the mirror, then to her face, and sticks her tongue out at her. Brittany keeps brushing and crosses her eyes, focusing on her toothbrush. Santana laughs; the way she smiles make Brittany feel like the best person in the world.

Once Brittany spits her toothpaste into the sink, too, Santana leans over and kisses her ear.

"This is really nice," Santana says, slinging one arm over Brittany's shoulders, and Brittany knows exactly what Santana means by _this_.

They stare at themselves in the mirror, and for a second Brittany thinks she can see them the same way that maybe her mom or her dad might do. They look young and old at the same time, their faces more set and deep cut than last year, but not so changed that you can't see the them from when they first met, back before they knew anything about anything, behind the new lines. Brittany thinks she likes it like that.

"So are you gonna want a shower tomorrow?" Brittany asks.

"Um, sure," says Santana. They both still look at their reflections while they talk, which is a little bit weird, maybe, but neither one of them can seem to look away; they just fit so well together. "Do you need to shower? I can wake up early. I won't use all the hot water this time, I promise—"

Brittany shakes her head no and turns, pulling Santana into a hug and pinning her arms to her sides. Brittany whispers down into her ear, "I've got a plan: We'll shower together, but we'll turn off the water halfway through and then start it again so it seems like two showers. My parents will never know."

Santana gulps, "Britt…"

"Showering with friends saves water. It's environmentally conscientious, San."

Brittany watches Santana quirk an eyebrow in the mirror. A slow smile curls her lips. She nods and presses her head against Brittany's, relaxing in Brittany's arms. "Okay," she agrees. "But what will we do for the part where the water is off?"

Brittany smiles, wicked: "Keep each other warm."


	8. Chapter 8

They move back to Brittany's bedroom. Santana sits behind Brittany, wiping the makeup off Brittany's face with a cleansing pad, when Brittany's mom knocks on the door and pokes her head inside the room. They both look up from the mirror.

"Oh," says Brittany's mom, surprised to see where they are and what they're doing. "I was just going to tell you to get ready for bed, but I guess you beat me to it, huh?" She steps into the room and stops a few feet away from where Brittany and Santana sit on the floor.

"Yup," says Brittany. "We're totally responsible."

Brittany's mom just nods. "I can see that." She watches Santana's careful motions, the way she gently daubs the eye shadow off the bow of Brittany's eye. Santana bites her own lips into her mouth and moves very slowly, watching her handiwork in the mirror. Brittany's mom smiles a little, "Do you girls need anything before I go to bed?"

"Nope," says Brittany.

"No, thank you," says Santana.

"Okay, then. Goodnight, girls," Brittany's mom says, her smile turning so, so soft. She walks up right behind them and stoops to kiss the back of Brittany's head, then Santana's. Santana's eyebrows shoot all the way up by her hairline and Brittany can tell Santana feels really surprised, probably because Brittany's mom hasn't ever done that before. It isn't like a bad surprised, though; actually, Santana looks kind of like a cat who didn't know it wanted someone to pet it until somebody started doing just that. She turns to look at Brittany's mom over her shoulder, a shy, open-mouthed smile on her face.

"Goodnight," both Brittany and Santana say at once, Santana a little breathlessly.

When Brittany's mom leaves and shuts the door behind her, Santana mumbles, "God, your whole family is so freaking nice."

Brittany smiles, but shakes her head no. "Nuh-uh. Remember my cousin James?"

Santana's brow crinkles in recognition. "Oh, yeah," she says, frowning. "That kid's a douche."

After they finish wiping off their makeup and putting on moisturizer, they climb up into bed and just stay there, talking about little things, their kneecaps pushed together as they sit cross-legged on the mattress. Brittany plays with Santana's hands, tracing circles on Santana's palms with her nails. They trash talk the JV Cheerios, who are nowhere near as good as Brittany, Santana, and Quinn were when they were new on the squad, and wonder about how many track suits Sue Sylvester actually owns. When Santana tries to cover a yawn, Brittany says, "Come on," and peels the covers back, inviting her to lie down. Brittany hops out of bed to go flick the lights.

"But I wanna stay up," Santana moans, taking out her earring studs and setting them on Brittany's nightstand. "I like hanging out."

Brittany smirks, climbing into bed next to her once the room is dark. "We can hang out in our dreams, sleepyhead. Wanna hang out at the mall? Or wait—no! This is a dream, so we can hang out anywhere. How about someplace cool, like…"

"Like Cozumel?"

"Or 1986."

Santana yawns again and pulls Brittany closer to her, pressing their hips and breasts and bellies together so that Brittany can feel Santana's ribs expand and contract with every breath. Santana sighs and Brittany loves the pitch of her voice, the way it sounds higher and sweeter here in the dark, where it's just the two of them, than it ever does at school.

For a long time, they just snuggle, arms wrapped around each other, Brittany feeling Santana's breathing start to deepen and slow, their bodies still humming to that same tune that Brittany's felt all night. Brittany strokes Santana's hair away from her forehead. She can't see the clock, but she doesn't really want to see it anyway. She starts to doze, thinking thick thoughts about 1980s fashion and how nice it is to see Santana's toothbrush sitting next to hers on the bathroom counter, falling to sleep slow, then fallen asleep all of a sudden.

Then.

"Shit."

Santana's voice startles Brittany from her early dreams, which were already about Santana anyway. For a second, Brittany feels confused, stuck between asleep and awake. "What is it?" she mumbles, trying to seem more alert than she is.

"BrittBritt?" Santana whispers sharply through the dark. "We forgot the laundry, baby."

"What?"

"We forgot to move your laundry."

"Shit."

"If we don't move it, your mom's gonna think I distracted you."

"Right."

Santana peels the covers back and untangles their legs. Brittany groans a little, not wanting to leave the warmth and the softness of bed. She has to, though. It shouldn't surprise her when Santana follows after her, but it does.

"We have to be quiet," Santana warns, taking Brittany's hand as they stumble across Brittany's dark room. Brittany nods and turns the door handle very, very carefully, making sure not to release the latch until she has the door all the way open. They tiptoe out into the hallway and suddenly Brittany feels like they're ninjas.

The hardest part is getting down the stairs without making any noise. The second hardest part is not slipping on the wood floor. The third hardest part is not laughing when Santana starts whispering "Shit, shit, shit" as they walk across the kitchen floor, which feels like ice on their bare feet.

Once they actually make it to the laundry room, Brittany flips on the lights and they both wince at the brightness.

"What time is it?" Santana says in a low voice.

"Midnight," Brittany answers.

Santana shakes her head. "God, I'm sorry, Britt," she says, like it's her fault that Brittany forgot she had to do this. "What do you think the chances are that Coach will go easy on us tomorrow at practice so we won't be fucking exhausted all day?"

"She'll probably make us do like a million killers and a million wind sprints."

"Okay, so we'll just go fast at this."

"Okay."


	9. Chapter 9

It actually isn't that bad, sneaky-folding laundry with Santana after midnight, first, because Santana's good at folding clothes super fast, second, because it means that they get to hang out more before they go to sleep for real, and, third, because everything is better when Brittany does it with Santana.

For a while, they just fold in silence, but then Santana pulls one of Brittany's thongs out of the dryer and grins, tongue between her teeth. She winks at Brittany and starts rolling the underwear into a ball, faking like she's going to stick them, bunched, into her pocket to take home.

"Oh my god!" teases Brittany. "I'm dating a panty snatcher!"

Santana just cracks up and tosses the thong into Brittany's laundry basket. She smirks, "Guilty as charged, babe."

Brittany just shakes her head. "Weirdo," she mutters.

"Hey!"

"It's okay: I still love you."

"Always?"

"Yup."

"Awesome."

After that, they get to talking about lost socks.

(Brittany swears that her dryer has to have like a portal to another dimension inside it or maybe one of those cosmic fuzzballs that they talked about in Physics class the other day, at least.)

Lost socks turn into laundry and laundry turns into colleges. Santana starts telling a story and Brittany listens carefully, watching how her pretty mouth moves, watching Santana fold t-shirts the same way that they do on department store shelves.

"… so when my mom's best friend's son graduated from high school, his aunt gave him like a million rolls of quarters for his graduation present and it turned out to be like the best present ever," Santana says as she smoothes out a pair of Brittany's jeans and presses them onto the pile in Brittany's laundry basket.

"Why?" asks Brittany, curious.

"Because most college students have to, like, wash their clothes at a laundromat or pay to use the washers in the dorms," Santana explains.

"I bet my grandma would give us quarters if I asked for them," says Brittany. "She keeps like this whole bucket of spare change on the floor next to her piano."

"I've seen that."

"She never uses it for anything."

"Yeah." Santana smiles at Brittany like she really likes her plan and Brittany smiles back, tossing a pair of rolled socks into the basket. For a second, they both just pause and smile at each other, Brittany's laundry basket between them, but then they go back to folding; Santana hums snatches of their newest glee song under her breath and Brittany shakes her hips in time to the tune.

They both jump when they hear a noise; it takes a second to realize that the noise is a meow. They look down to see Lord Tubbington curling around the corner by the door, his tail in the air and his eyes shiny against the light. He scrutinizes them, interested in why they're out of bed so late, invading his nighttime space.

"Jesus, Tubbs!" Santana says, putting a hand over her heart. "For a big guy, you're fucking sneaky!"

"He learned that during his CIA operative days," Brittany shrugs, winning a smile from Santana. Brittany smiles back, pleased with herself.

(Making Santana smile is one of Brittany's all-time favorite things.)

Lord Tubbington meows again, stepping gingerly into the laundry room. He sniffs at Brittany's laundry basket and looks up at Brittany and Santana, indignant. He meows a third time, pawing at one of Brittany's dad's socks on the floor.

Santana puts a hand on her hip and uses her sassy voice. "May we help you?" she asks, staring Lord Tubbington down. She looks Lord Tubbington right in the face, waiting for him to reply.

(For some reason, whenever Santana talks to Lord Tubbington the same way she would a person, it makes Brittany feel super loved, maybe because Brittany knows that Santana wouldn't talk to just anybody's cat.)

Lord Tubbington doesn't say anything; he stares up at Santana and she stares back at him. His eyes shine silver-yellow-green under the florescent lights. Santana just sighs and shrugs, like _Well, what can you do?_ at Brittany.

"See, BrittBritt?" she says seriously. "It's like I told you: He's in love with me. That's why he won't ever leave us alone."

Brittany gasps. "He'd better not be in love with you, San! You're all mine and I don't like sharing."

Santana grins, not just her laughing-at-Brittany's-joke grin, but her you-just-made-me-feel-really-special-Brittany grin, which may be one of Brittany's favorite grins of all. Santana tries to hide her blush. She looks down at the cat. "Sorry, Tubbs—taken," she fake apologizes. Lord Tubbington just stares some more and takes another sniff at the laundry basket, bored.

It takes a few more minutes for them to finish folding everything. Once Santana sets one last pair of jeans onto Brittany's basket, she looks at Brittany, biting her lips, as if awaiting further instruction.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Brittany says.

Santana looks down at her toes, flushed. Her hair falls in her face and she presses her pretty, pink tongue against her teeth, her hands twisting nervously, as if wringing an invisible washcloth, like they always do when she's nervous or bashful. Brittany knows it's because she called Santana _sweetheart_ and Santana loves it when she does that. "You're welcome," Santana mumbles.

(One of the things Brittany adores about Santana is that Santana always acts so surprised when people give her nice things, even if she deserves the nice things and even if she should be used to getting them by now.)

For a second, Santana looks like she's about to say something else. She opens her mouth and draws a breath, but then just stops. Her eyes shift away from Brittany's face and fall to one of Brittany's mom's baskets of dirty laundry, sitting on the floor just beside Santana's feet.

"What if we threw the munchkin's jersey in the washing machine right now? You know, so your mom doesn't have to do it tomorrow?"

That wasn't what she was going to say at first, Brittany's pretty sure. Even if it isn't really what she wanted to say, the way Santana suggests they wash the jersey is still unbelievably adorable, though. She tries to make her idea sound like it's no big deal—like it isn't the kindest, most thoughtful thing just about ever—but Brittany has always been really good at knowing when Santana is trying to fit something huge into a teeny, tiny box.

(The first way you can tell Santana loves you is if Santana gives you things.)

_("Did your mom pack you cookies?" "Yeah. Want the rest?")_

_("Way cute necklace." "You can have it, if you want.")_

_("You're sweet. Can I keep you?" "I'm all yours.")_


	10. Chapter 10

They end up putting in an entire load of Brittany's mom's colors and setting it for the longest spin cycle before gathering up Brittany's filled laundry basket and carrying it between them all the way upstairs to Brittany's bedroom, Santana walking backwards with Brittany directing her so that she doesn't run into things.

It's hard to see in the dark, so Brittany almost gets Santana killed a couple of times; she has to keep whispering really loudly to keep Santana from bonking the kitchen island and the garbage can and the dining room table. The loudness of Brittany's warnings sort of defeats the purpose of whispering in the first place, Brittany guesses, but there's nothing she can really do except warn Santana if she doesn't want Santana to trip and get hurt, so she keeps doing it. Every time Brittany hisses at Santana to stop or look out or step left, Santana giggles like a goofnut. She's probably just as loud as Brittany.

"We're so gonna get caught!" she laughs.

"Because of you, you crazy gigglebug," Brittany teases.

"The only way I'm gonna get us caught is if you steer me into a wall or something."

"Santana, look out!"

Santana freezes, but there's nothing. Brittany laughs.

"Gotcha."

Even though Brittany can't see Santana, she's pretty sure Santana rolls her eyes.

They reach the bottom of the stairs and stop to change their arrangement. Brittany takes the whole basket into her arms, resting it on her hipbone, and Santana falls into place behind her, following Brittany up the stairs, cringing as the corner of the basket bumps against the wall and makes a knocking sound through the hollow plasterboard. When they get to Brittany's room, Santana swings the door open wide and waits for Brittany duck in before shutting the door softly behind them.

Technically, now that Brittany and Santana are girlfriends, the rule is that Brittany has to keep her bedroom door open at night when they're together, but Brittany's mom and dad have been kind of lax about enforcing that rule for the last few weeks—or at least more lax than Santana's mom and dad have been about it.

(If Brittany's mom grumps when she finds the door closed in the morning, Brittany will just say they forgot.)

Once they're safe inside the room, Santana flicks Brittany's nightstand lamp on, casting the room in a dusty, yellow lowlight. Brittany sets the laundry basket over by her dresser; she'll put her clothes away tomorrow or maybe on Saturday.

"Yay, SuperBrittany!" Santana claps, not quite whispering, but using a little voice. She acts impressed that Brittany carried the laundry basket all the way up the stairs by herself, even though it wasn't actually that heavy—and especially not compared to Lord Tubbington.

Brittany smirks and holds up her arms to flex her muscles like a bodybuilder. "Yeah!" she says in her rapper voice and Santana just laughs and flounces over to her, throwing her arms around Brittany in a low hug, her chin digging into Brittany's chest. She sighs, content, and Brittany laughs.

"What?" says Santana, snuggling in even deeper.

"You're like a mouse in a cheese shop."

"Do they even have those around here?"

"Mice?"

"No, cheese shops."

Brittany shrugs and wraps her arms around Santana's shoulders. She kisses the crown of Santana's head and tastes a trace of Santana's shampoo, vaguely floral and vaguely citrus. Santana feels hot all over and so, so nice.

After a few seconds, Brittany presses her mouth above Santana's ear. "I have a secret—pass it on," she whispers against Santana's skin. "The secret is that…," Brittany pauses for effect, biting her lip and checking Santana's reaction. Santana stays totally still against Brittany and holds her breath, like she's making a wish. Brittany's heart feels the way hummingbird wings look when a hummingbird flies. She gives Santana a squeeze, "… it's that there's this girl."

"Yeah?" Santana says without looking up or moving.

"Yeah," Brittany continues. "There's this girl… and I think about her all the time. And sometimes I think about her so much that I can't think of anything else. So the secret is that, the other day, when Coach yelled at me for zoning out during her rant, I wasn't really thinking about where a chimp would even get a typewriter in outer space, like I told her that I was. I was thinking of you… er, the girl."

"Really?" Santana says, her voice so sweet that Brittany's ears pink, just listening to the word.

"Uh huh."

Santana presses a kiss through Brittany's t-shirt; Brittany feels her lips, warm and then gone. Santana asks, "Well, what were you thinking about the girl?"

Brittany puts on her super flirty voice. "Stuff that Coach doesn't need to know."

"Is that so?"

Brittany nods, "Uh huh."

And even though Brittany can't see Santana's face, she feels Santana's cheek round against her chest as Santana breaks out into a smile, a super dopey one that Brittany can imagine, easy as pie. "I have a secret—pass it on," Santana says in a loud, loud whisper.

She draws a breath, but doesn't continue.

"What's the secret?" Brittany asks, fluttery with the kind of excitement you feel when you know someone is about to give you a present that you'll really love.

Santana kisses through Brittany's shirt again. She whispers, "Doblar la ropa contigo es la cosa más romántica de mi vida."

Maybe it's a funny thing for Santana to say, but somehow it doesn't seem funny to Brittany; it actually seems just like what Brittany's felt all night, but hasn't been able to find the right words to explain for herself—maybe because the right words are in Spanish and Brittany thinks in English, mostly.

Right then, Brittany swears she can actually feel her heart get bigger in her chest to hold all the new love that she feels for Santana. It always amazes her whenever that happens, because, most of the time, Brittany feels sure that she can't possibly love Santana any more than she already does, but then Santana always manages to do something incredible, and then it's like magic: Brittany does love her more and it's the best feeling in the world.

(Santana won't ever believe it when Brittany tries to tell her, but Santana is pretty much a miracle that breathes and thinks and loves.)

Brittany tucks a finger under Santana's chin and tilts Santana's head up so that they can look at each other. They only look for a second, though, because Santana is basically too, too much for Brittany right now—too adorable, too wonderful, too interesting, too perfect—so Brittany just has to kiss her. Santana stands up her tippy-toes, her arms still slung around Brittany's waist like a baggy fashion belt, and Brittany guides them into a kiss, or actually more like a lot of different kisses, all pretending to be just one.

At first, they go slow, nodding into the kisses, because _yes_—just _yes_. Then the kisses start to open. Brittany slips her tongue across Santana's lips, but Santana pushes it back with her tongue. They both gasp a little at that. Brittany brings her hands up to cup Santana's face just behind her ears and under the hinge or her jaw as Santana's tongue slips into her mouth. The only thing in the world then is Santana's lips, tongue, and thready breaths.

They kiss and kiss until their breath runs out. Brittany's whole body warms, tuned to that same note as always tonight, but at an even higher octave. She didn't realize they had moved, but when she opens her eyes, she finds them standing next to the bed.

Santana stares at Brittany, flushed, as if awaiting further instruction. Her whole face looks bright, like it would in the daytime, the kind of real beautiful that you can't see through magazine gloss or projected onto movie screens—the kind that only comes from being actually, entirely happy and with someone you love. A long strand of hair hangs over one side of her face. Someone should paint of a picture of her right this minute, Brittany thinks.

"We should go to bed," Brittany says, pulling her eyes away from Santana for the quickest second to check the clock on her nightstand; it's after one.

Santana looks at Brittany, like _Are you serious?_

"We're gonna shower together tomorrow morning, remember?" Brittany reminds her.

Santana smirks. "How will I ever be able to sleep after a kiss like that, though?"

She sits down on the bed and Brittany sits beside her. They look one another right in the eyes and reach for each other's hands, without even thinking about it.

"You're a tease, Britt," Santana pouts.

"Nuh-uh," Brittany says stubbornly and Santana laughs. Brittany gives their hands a tug so that they both flop over onto the mattress, lying on their sides. She pushes her forehead close to Santana's. "You're getting very sleepy…," she chants, the same way they do in all those old cartoons. She wishes she had a pocket watch so she could try to hypnotize Santana.

(Actually, she probably doesn't need the watch to do that.)

"Britty!"

"You're getting very sleepy, Santana. You want to go to sleep so you can dream of awesome things to do in the shower with your hot girlfriend when you wake up super early so you can get ready for Cheerios practice, where you're going to go and be fierce and scare the freshmen so they don't suck so much."

Santana laughs a little bit louder than she should, her eyes all scrunched up, small and lively dark. She keeps her fingers laced with Brittany's and the mattress shakes as she giggles.

"I'm pretty sure you can't fall asleep when you're laughing, Santana."

"I'm pretty sure you're a goofus."

"I'm pretty sure you love me."

"I'm absolutely sure I do."


	11. Chapter 11

It takes some more kisses and some more laughing, but eventually Brittany and Santana scoot to the top of the bed and slide under the covers. Santana reaches across Brittany and flicks off the lamp.

"Hello, Santana's boobs!" Brittany says brightly as Santana's chest presses over her, close to her face.

"Hush up, you," Santana smirks. "You're the one who wants to go to sleep."

The room falls into darkness. Now that they can't see each other, things seem a bit more serious, not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that makes you want to stay still and quiet. Santana peels away from Brittany and settles back onto her side of the bed; Brittany immediately misses her heat and pulls Santana into an embrace. For a second, they both squirm, finding the right way to fit against each other. It only takes a second, though, because they've done this for such a long time that they've worn into each other; their bodies link like matching puzzle pieces.

They both sigh.

For a few minutes, it's silent, then Santana whispers, "Hey, Britty?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for inviting me over," her throat catches, almost like she's going to cry, except Brittany knows it's not that—it's just that she has something big to say and not enough voice to say it with, whispering like this. "It's just… it's really nice."

(Brittany knows exactly what _it_ is.)

"The nicest," Brittany agrees. They both squeeze each other a little more tightly at the same time.

Then.

"We should do this every night," Brittany blurts before she can help herself. She waits for a second, not breathing, wondering if she said too much.

"Mhmm," Santana agrees through the kind of sigh she makes when she feels entirely safe.

(Brittany's pretty sure she's the only person in the world who ever hears Santana like this.)

"I love you, San."

"I love you, too."

"Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams."

Brittany kisses Santana's forehead. She can't tell when she really starts dreaming.


End file.
